


tacet

by nausicaa_of_phaeacia



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Coulson left alone with his thoughts, F/M, IN SPACE!, Post-Season/Series 04, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 23:51:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11263611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa_of_phaeacia/pseuds/nausicaa_of_phaeacia
Summary: tacetLatin third-person singular form of ‘taceo’. Translatable as ‘remains silent’. Usually written next to an instrument that doesn’t play during a piece of music among a sequence of pieces.





	tacet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skyepilot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/gifts).
  * Inspired by [tell me now you know](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11229318) by [Skyepilot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot). 



> I struggled with this one, I'm not sure why. Coulson is hard to write when he's alone.  
> As per usual, not much happens.

**tacet**  
_Latin third-person singular form of ‘taceo’. Translatable as ‘remains silent’. Usually written next to an instrument that doesn’t play during a piece of music among a sequence of pieces._

___________________________________________

It‘s too complicated, he‘s given up on trying to understand it, to grasp the circumstances that brought him here, to the prison aboard the space station. He’s been asking around, earning some weird looks, but apparently, this definitely isn’t a place for people with lifetime sentences (or worse). He’s thinking labour camp, since all they spend their time on is sorting through chunks of ore, catalogueing them and getting them ready for further transport. To be honest, he’s surprised they’re getting any sleep at all.

At first, he finds the idea of floating through space while sleeping deeply unsettling, and the fact that his bunk is never completely dark doesn’t exactly make things easier (even if he normally enjoys the view from his window). Of course, he gets used to it – after all, he’s always been fascinated by all things space, and while the darkness in front of his window, only softened by a few stars, reminds him all too much of the frightening blackness of the sea at night, he slowly makes friends with the thought that he’s probably as close to the stars as he’s ever going to get.

Months go by, and not much has changed. There are some new men around. Coulson doesn’t ask anyone about their backstory anymore. He’s stopped suspecting that this was a misunderstanding, he’s pretty sure this is actual punishment, that the government is trying to make an example out of him. It’s not the work that’s exhausting, it’s the thought of being alone in this, of feeling lonely no matter the time. And it’s not just that, because Coulson definitely has some experience in that, too. It’s not having anyone to talk to, not being able to express anything to anyone. 

He’s lost track of time – obviously, there is a work rhythm on the station, so the few hours left between duty and duty have become his days and nights, but he can feel his body reject this cycle, as if he were forced to work against the rhythm he’d been used to before. Many of his free hours he spends waiting for sleep, wishing he could listen to one of his records, wishing he could sneak to the kitchen for a glass of milk and probably find Daisy there, looking for the same thing.

Over time, the stars grow into a source of comfort during those hours. They always stay the same, they don’t move unexpectedly, they don’t suddenly disappear. And even though this has got to be one of the most overused metaphors, it’s calming for him to know that in a way, these are the same stars that Daisy would get to see if she looked into his direction, no matter from how far away. And it’s Daisy he misses most, because she would keep him company in the kitchen at night and know what’s on his mind without making him talk about it.

One night, it just happens that he says it aloud, he says, _I miss you, Daisy_ , and it might just be his imagination, but he’d like to think he feels a little lighter after that, a little less confined, maybe slightly less lonely. He does it again the next night, and the night after that, and it seems that sleep becomes just a tiny bit more easily attainable with those words. 

Over the course of time, this little moment he shares with the thought of Daisy spreads over the few hours he gets to be by himself, before and after work. At first, he just remarks small things to her as if she were there, _I hit my knee on the sorting machine today_ , Daisy, _I knew they were going to give us tomato soup again_. He imagines her smiling at his little woes, and it makes things a bit more bearable, a little more irrelevant next to the thought that he could be having a conversation with Daisy instead.

He doesn’t dream, but Daisy is there when he wakes up, it’s as if she’s become his silent companion, as if he were taking her around the station in his pocket, as if he were able to talk to her anytime. And he does, he addresses her in his head, he assembles words for her in his thoughts like he would for a letter. He stops speaking, because it’s not expected of him to talk, because it’s not necessary – and while it feels pathetic, he tells himself he’s saving his voice for Daisy, for the little comments he makes to her when he knows he won’t be heard by anyone else.

It all changes when they are required to accompany a transport to a nearby planet. Suddenly, words become necessary in the real world, at work, to coordinate the heavy loads of ore they are moving. Misunderstandings suddenly become dangerous again, and it suddenly hits Coulson how he doesn’t remember any misunderstandings of relevance with Daisy, how it seems to never have been an issue with Daisy to make things understood. It’s childish, but he briefly considers crying about it as he pushes a load of the raw metal through the corridor, decides not to let it happen anyway.

They are about to land after having entered the orbit (Coulson can’t remember the name of the planet, but Daisy would, he imagines). Then suddenly, things are flying across the vault, Coulson barely manages to hide his face, they are probably crashing or burning or something equally fatal. It probably doesn’t make much of a difference, but he tries to cling to a door handle anyways, remembers thinking it might at least give him some sense of orientation. Then darkness hits him hard over the head.

It’s impossible to tell how long he’s been out, but when he opens his eyes again, it feels like probably the only part of his body that’s not broken is his prosthetic. He looks at his other arm, and his pulsating fingers are still curled around the now broken door handle. It almost makes him want to smile, because as he looks around, everything seems to be in shambles, and Coulson realizes he must be lying on a few tons of shipwreck and ore. 

He slowly turns his head, and there’s Daisy, and Coulson’s pretty sure that means he’s going to die. She looks worried, but oddly happy, and to him, that proves he’s imagining this, the same way he imagined all their conversations, because her smile is exactly the same as he’d imagined it.  
"Hey," she says, and Coulson freezes, because that’s Daisy’s voice, that’s _Daisy’s voice_.  
"Hey," he croaks.  
He can tell she’s trying not cry, because her voice quivers, and he’s a little angry with himself for imagining Daisy sad. "You didn’t have to do that," she says.  
"Do what?," he asks, because hold the stupid handle is all he’s done.  
"Blow everything up."

"I didn’t," Coulson manages, and he can’t shrug, but apparently that’s enough anyway, because Daisy hugs him. He can’t see her face, but she’s possibly hiding tears, and he thinks, great, now I’ve officially gone crazy, _it’s over now._  
"I missed you, Daisy," he says, because what does it matter, the Daisy of his imagination already knows that, he’s been telling her often enough. One last fit of illusion can’t hurt before he dies.

"I was coming to get you," she says. "I would have needed like two more minutes to get you out," she tells his shoulder.  
He can tell things are getting hazy, because he doesn’t get what she means, when normally, he always does. "What?"  
"Get you out of here. I’ve been waiting for the transport to land."  
He’s seeing more stars than there are above, but he props himself up a little, making her sit up again.  
"You’ve been _waiting_."  
"Yeah."  
"Here. For me."  
"Yeah, you idiot," she says, a little emotional, rubbing her eye. "What do you think I’ve been doing this whole time?"

And he’s done, he’s crying, this is _real_ , damn him, Daisy was going to come to get him anyway, she’s been tracking him all this time, she’s been _waiting for him_.  
"Don’t cry," she says, and her voice sounds even warmer than he’d imagined it, he could never have imagined her voice sounding this loving when talking to him. "What you need is some rest. In a hospital."  
"Wh – How are we –?"  
"Don’t worry about that," she says. "Mack’s here. And you’ve always been good at undercover."  
It makes him smile, smile directly at her sun of a smile, before he passes out.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Hope you liked it!


End file.
